


Mnemosyne

by eyeslikerain



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Holding Hands, M/M, and matters progressed, another unfortunate moment, no sex in the bathtub, remembering a time when you refused to be gay, ruined silk scarves, sex in the bathtub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 05:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10210163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikerain/pseuds/eyeslikerain
Summary: During the search for Bunny, the Corcorans come to Hampden and invite Francis to dinner at their hotel. Returning home early in the morning, he finds Richard asleep on his couch.Richard wakes up and sees Francis eating maraschino cherries from a jar.(The first paragraphs are from the novel, until "I am going to have a bath now".)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mnemosyne is one of the two rivers in Hades. The other one, Lethe, makes you forget. Mnemosyne makes you remember.

„Why are you eating those?“ I said.  
„I don’t know“, he said, staring down at the jar. “They taste really bad.”  
“Throw them away.”  
He struggled with the window sash. It sailed up with a grinding noise.  
A blast of icy air hit me in the face. “Hey,” I said.  
He threw the jar out the window and then leaned on the sash with all his weight. I went over to help him. Finally, it crashed down, and the draperies floated down to rest placidly by the window. The cherry juice had left a spattered red trajectory on the snow.  
“Kind of a Jean Cocteau touch, isn’t it?” Francis said. “I’m exhausted. If you don’t mind, I’m going to have a bath now.”  
Tousling my hair, he asked:  
“Will you come sit with me? I’m so tired I don’t know if I can ever get out of it on my own.”  
Anxious, hypochondriac Francis again. I sighed, followed him into the bathroom and started to fill the tub for him. I added a splash of the exclusive Penhaligon’s bathoil he preferred and helped him to undress. After gliding into the water and resting his head wearily on the rim, he complained:  
“Can you believe it, one of those noisy Corcoran offspring wrapped up part of a chicken leg in my favorite scarf. That nice silk one with the pattern of clocks on it. It’s just ruined.”  
After a minute, he opened his eyes: “Care to join me in here?”

Why not. I stripped off my clothes and he slid forward a little so I could get into the tub behind him. Lowering myself slowly into the heavenly smelling water, I tried to avoid spilling too much of it on the floor. Despite his height, Francis was slender like a girl. We fitted in perfectly and he relaxed back into my arms with a contented sigh. He rested his hands on my knees, stroking them absentmindedly, I painted languid patterns of eights and spirals with a dripping finger on his smooth chest. Enjoying the warmth and his closeness, I almost got drowsy again when he asked:  
“Remember that night in Boston?”  
I knew immediately which night he meant. “Of course I do. I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life.”  
He chuckled: “Come on. It was not that bad, was it?”  
“Well, for me, it was.”

He had persuaded me to spend four days with his family over Christmas instead of being miserable and alone during the holidays on campus. I was overwhelmed by the splendour and quiet luxury of the old townhouse on Beacon Hill the Abernathy’s inhabited and almost in awe that people actually lived like that. It was not only geographically the most remote way of living compared to my own upbringing. His grandfather, who seemed to have rather strict views on life’s responsibilities, quite scared me, but his mother was easygoing and pleasant to be around, and she was more than pleased to add one more young man to her fabulous collection, as she called it herself – the other two being Francis himself and her husband Chris, just a few years older than her son.  
One evening, I was sitting on the closed toilet lid with a Scotch in hands while Francis was having a bath. We never had done that before, but we just got engaged in a conversation about Kallimachos we didn’t want to interrupt, so he had asked me to join him. I had grown accustomed to being around each other in all sorts of situations with the rest of the class, particularly on weekends in Francis’ house - Charles ironing a shirt in the kitchen, naked and barefoot except for loosely belted trousers, Camilla calling for a cup of tea while she was laying in the bathtub, surrounded by foamy bubbles, Henry and Francis coming back from their unexpected dip in the lake when Bunny overturned the boat and starting to get rid of their dripping clothes on the veranda – so I didn’t think anything of it until we heard a light knock on the door and his mother burst in unexpected in a magnificent peacock blue dress.  
“Darling, are you in here? I forgot – “.  
She saw me, stopped and stumbled to say: “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know…”  
I got up, sensed a hot flush of blood rush to my face and felt a sudden need to explain my presence. She smiled.  
“Francis, listen, I forgot we had tickets for the Symphony tonight. Chris and I are going to this soirée I told you about. Would the two of you care for some Ravel? Something Greek? Obviously, you both seem to share Greek tastes? ”  
Francis seemed calm, but I was mortified.  
“How about it, Richard, would you like to go?”  
I was unable to respond.  
“Ooooh, little darling, don’t be confused”.  
Francis’ mother came over to me, all flashing emeralds and dizzying masses of red curls. She quickly cupped my chin.  
“What a shame to lose such a cutie to womanhood. Francis, you nasty boy.”  
My embarrassment was beyond anything I had ever experienced.  
“Well, I will leave the tickets on the hallway table, okay? Have a great evening!”  
With that, she closed the door behind her. Francis almost choked on a fit of laughter which sent the water in the tub into giant wobbles.  
“You idiot”, I hissed while making for a hasty exit, Scotch almost spilling out of my glass.

We did go to the Symphony that night, though. Anxiously avoiding to touch Francis’ arm on the armrest between us and barely looking at him, I felt more drawn into Ravel’s music than I had expected. Wave upon wave of translucent, luscious pleasure rolled over me as the orgiastic dances of “Daphnis et Chloé” unfolded before us, and I had difficulty to ban the picture of naked, lovely Francis in his bath from my inner eye. The headspinning rhythms and voluptuous harmonies, the sensual atmosphere of the cream and gold concert hall, the gleaming, enormous crystal chandeliers only added to my confusion.

After the concert, Francis stayed downstairs to talk to his grandfather and wait for his mother and Chris. I retired to bed, tired and still slightly confused as I was. The guestroom I had been advised was decorated in light green and gold, pompous and ornate like right out of Versailles. I was still reading when I heard a knock on the door, followed by Francis’ head looking in and stating: “Ah, good, you are still awake. I brought you a nightcap.” He closed the door behind him, juggling two crystal tumblers with an amber liquid in them.  
“Great. Just do everything to convince your mother we are doing it.”  
He chuckled. “I wanted to apologize, also. This really must have been an awkward situation for you.”  
“Yes, it was. And you did nothing to convince her of the contrary of what she thought!”  
“That would have been senseless. Believe me.”

He handed me one glass and asked if he could sit down on my bed. I moved my feet and myself up to lean on the comfortable, thickly padded headboard. Silently, we looked at each other for a few seconds.  
“Francis, I like you, I really do, but – I am just not into that sort of thing. I hope you understand.”  
He bit his lip and nodded.  
“Is your mother right in assuming” – I was desperately fighting for words, starting to feel embarrassed again, for fear of insulting him, but also afraid he might take it as an invitation to move physically into dangerous grounds - “what she assumes about you?”  
“Yes.”  
Our eyes met again for a long time.  
“Well, it’s fine with me. But please don’t expect anything of me in that direction.”  
We both took a sip of our drinks. I was feeling flustered and hoped he would excuse himself soon.  
“I will leave you alone, I promise.”  
With a mischievous smile, he asked: “Can I sleep here anyway?”  
“What?” I jerked forwards. “Are you crazy?”  
“Well, my mother already thinks we are at it, so that doesn’t make any difference. I promise not to touch you. Really.”  
“But why would you want to stay here?”  
He looked at me uncomfortably. Now it was his turn to seem embarrassed.  
“I just – sometimes I just don’t want to be alone.” I could relate. I knew this feeling.  
“Francis, I am serious. If you try anything, you are back in your room that same second.”  
“Yes, I understand. May I join you now?”  
I groaned, moved over a bit and he climbed gracefully over me and slid under the covers. My covers.  
“And now – can you tell me a bedtime story? Of this beautiful shepherd Daphnis making out with Pan himself in the open, and please omit any nymphs or any other female characters?”  
“Shut up!”  
“Do you never fantasize like that?”  
“No, I certainly don’t”, I responded sternly, looking for the light switch and turning it off. “Shut up now.”  
“Love you too!”, he cooed. “Good night.”

When I woke up for a moment in the middle of the night, I realized to my utter surprise that we were holding hands. Francis lay on his back, breathing peacefully, his fine features barely visible in the dim light a lantern cast through the ivory curtains. I was on my side, my fingers resting in his slender hand. I didn’t remember how it came to be there, but I didn’t stir. I feared he might wake up and come to wrong conclusions. And, I had to admit, I was surprised at how good the touch of his hand felt. 

In the morning, he was gone.

 

“Mother says hello to you, by the way.”, Francis brought me back to reality, to his Hampden apartment and the steaming bathroom. “Would you be as embarrassed if she burst in right now?”  
“No, not at all.”  
Francis stirred to glance at me. I was even more surprised by my answer than him.  
“I enjoy what we are doing, and I like you. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”  
He lifted his eyebrows:  
“You really came a long way in four months, didn’t you?”  
I leaned forward to kiss him. Our wet chins and wet cheeks joined softly, water sloshing around us. He opened his lips to let me explore him in an equally wet, long kiss. I let my hands glide down his skinny body, lifting him up a little, while our tongues met.  
“Yes, a very long way”, I murmured, letting my hand wander down his body and closing it tightly around his growing erection.


End file.
